by Eileen Wilks
Cyncerely Yours
World of the Lupi 4.5
Eileen Wilks
It was a warm, sunny morning in Washington, DC. Scraps of white fluff trailed across the bare dome of the sky, a lacy lingerie more tease than cover. The air was damp and fragrant; the grass was just damp.
It had rained yesterday. Rain was forecast for tomorrow. But it was not raining this morning. Cullen regarded it all — wet grass, sweet-smelling air, blue sky — with exhilarated wonder. “No r ain,” he pointed out to his best man. " They were predicting rain, you know.”
“True,” Rule said. “It ha s remained true every time you've mentioned it.”
So he was repeating himself. So what? He was getting married. A man could be foolish on his wedding day — was intended to be foolish, perhaps, on this one day, when past and future hinged on a moment that was nearly here. Nearly now.
Nearly, dammit. Cullen was not good at waiting. “I should have gone. When she called--”
“You think Cynna and Lily can’ t handle a flat tire?”
“They shouldn’t have to, dammit! Not today.”
“Which is why they took a taxi the rest of the way. A taxi that is pulling into the parking lot now.”
Cullen sighed in relief. At last. Cynna was with Lily, and of course Rule knew where Lily was. The two women would head straight for the ladies' room where Cynna would put on her gown.
“I’ve seen you jumpy before,” Rule said, “but you remind me of a Mexican jumping bean this morning. Scared?”
“Of course.” Cullen waved that away as irrelevant.. “I'm not stupid.”
Everyone was here but the bride and maid of honor. The priest waited at the fallen log they'd chosen as their alter. The guests stood talking quietly, not sequestered into his and her sides of the aisle as they would be in a more traditional wedding. Cullen didn't mind the omission of formal seating, though he resented the reason for it. The park authorities had been overruled about holding a wedding here, so they'd asserted themselves in typical bureaucratic fashion: no chairs allowed. No tables, either, so the food and drink for after the ceremony was parked in coolers over by the trees.
Cullen wanted badly to move. “How long can it take to put on a dress?”
Rule smiled. “You can ask?”
Okay, dumb question. But Cynna wasn’t doing makeup. She seldom wore it anyway, and she'd liked the Wiccan practice Cullen mentioned of coming naked to their marriage. She'd decided to leave off all the chemical additions — hair gel, makeup, and such — in a symbolic baring, since the literal sort would have made most of their guests uncomfortable, not to mention Father Michaels. The priest was less hidebound than most, but nude ministers would exceed his tolerance.
Ministers. That's how the Church saw Cullen and Cynna — as the ministers of the ceremony, with the priest being the chief witness or celebrant. Cullen was anything but Catholic, but he had a solid appreciation for the Church's grasp of ritual. He liked the idea that he and Cynna would minister the ceremony.
He liked the idea that they would be life-bound in the eyes of Cynna's Church even more. “I don’ t see what's taking her so long.”
“She just arrived, Cullen.”
What is the significance of the wedding dress? A cool mental voice inquired.
Does it have a ceremonial function?
The voice belonged to the only guest who wasn't standing. Mika sprawled forty feet away from the cluster of human guests, a startlement of ruby scales in the green grass. His head rose well above the grass on the muscular stem of his neck, the great eyes focused on Cullen.
Mika was the reason they were here rather than a more conventional setting. The dragon was curious about human mating rituals, so he'd graciously granted Cullen and Cynna permission to hold their wedding at the park, since he insisted on attending. Not that this section of Rock Creek Park was his in the eyes of its human keepers, but the authorities were disinclined to argue with the dragon.
Cullen looked at Mika — not in the eyes, of course, because he'd left down one of his shields so he could use mindspeech, and it might be possible for the dragon to enspell him. Probably not, but why take chances?
It took a moment to gather his thoughts sufficiently for coherent mindspeech.
Some wedding dresses have a ceremonial aspect — a veil that is moved aside to symbolize the baring of the bride to her groom, for example. Or the color white, which in western tradition symbolizes purity or virginity. The chief function of Cynna's wedding dress, however, is to celebrate her beauty and sexuality.
You are wearing white, the dragon observed. You are neither pure nor virginal.
Does the color have another meaning?
Figuring out what he should wear had been tricky. Cynna hadn't cared, but he did. A tux would look ridiculous in this setting and a suit would feel fake, pretending to a respectability he had no interest in claiming. Yet jeans were out, too. Jeans would say this day was nothing out of the ordinary.
In the end, he'd decided to wear simple drawstring trousers in white linen. No shirt. " White is also the color of endings and beginnings. I'm doing both today.”
“That you are,” Rule murmured, “yet I feel I’ m coming in at the end of the conversation.”
He'd spoken aloud, dammit. How embarrassing. Embarrassment annoyed Cullen. " I was talking to Mika.”
“Ah. Is he impatient, also?”
“Dragons are too damned Zen for impatience. It's. . . ” His attention drifted to the path that led to the parking lot. A few guests had been late to arrive, it seemed — three men, all in suits though the invitation specified casual wear. Must be people Cynna worked with.
Hey, wait. Cullen frowned. Wasn't that Asshole Number Two? “Cynna didn’t invite him,” he said definitely.
“Who?”
“The one in the bad suit and green tie. He . . . “Cullen's voice trailed off as he noticed what the man — what was his name? Baxter ? — was saying about Cynna.
“Cullen.”Rule made hi s name a warning. Obviously he'd heard the asshole, too.
“I’ll be right back,” Cullen said, delighted to have something to do.
The ladies room at Rock Creek Park in Washington, DC might not be the glam setting some women lusted after for the final primp session on their wedding day, but Cynna had no complaints. It was clean, wasn't it? Mostly clean, anyway. The lighting sucked, but she wasn't planning to wear makeup, so that didn't matter.
Quickly Cynna tugged off her t- shirt, then stepped out of her shoes. " How's our time?”
“You’ re fine,” Lily said, bending to pick up clothes as fast as Cynna discarded them. Naturally she folded them. Lily did stuff like that. " They aren't going to start without you.”
A grin slapped itself across Cynna's face. “Guess they won’ t.”
She'd been grinning all morning. And rushing. Crazy at it seemed, she was in a hurry to get herself married to Cullen Seabourne. Most of her haste was due to sheer, bubbling happiness. Not all.
“Uh . . . ”
“What?” Cynna took a bath mat out of her tote and spread it on the floor. She dug into her tote again, this time for the vial of sea water.
“I hadn’t realized the spell turned you blond elsewhere. It didn't affect your eyelashes and eyebrows.”
Cynna glanced down. " Weird, isn't it? I haven't gotten used to being blond down there. Looks like dandelion fluff , huh? But the contrast with the tattoos is kind of cool.”
Before leaving Edge, she and Cullen had been visited by the Rohen liege. There were complicated political reasons that Theil couldn't reward them for their part in saving her world — at least, that's what Cullen said. Cynna didn't get human politics, much less the sidhe version, so she took his word for it. Still
, Theil had found a way to express her appreciation. It was sidhe custom to gift expectant mothers, and tradition called for two presents — one magical and one physical.
As a result of the magical gift, Cynna would never have to bleach her hair again.
“Cullen’ s jazzed about it,” she said, unstopping the little vial. “Both the above part and the below. He hated the way the bleach made the hair on my head smell, and he says the spell puts a sexy little glow on my —”
“TMI, Cynna.”
She grinned. " Nether regions? Private parts? Hey, you've got sisters. You can't tell me you never talked about stuff with them.”
“With Beth, sometimes. But Susan? She calls it a pudendum. You can't talk about stuff with a big sister who calls it a pudendum.”
“Jesus. Really? I know she's a doctor and all, but . . . ” Cynna shook her head.
“Takes all kinds, I guess.” She closed her eyes, took a cleansing breath, and dabbed sea water on the dandelion fluff, a.k.a. her base chakra. Then she anointed the sacral chakra just below her belly button, and continued on up.
The ceremony itself would be Catholic, but they'd decided to include some other rituals, too. This cleansing mixed Wiccan with Eastern rites. Cullen had taught it to her.
At first Cynna hadn't wanted any ceremony. Why couldn't they could just go to the courthouse and do the deed? Cullen wouldn't hear of it. " You know the importance of ritual,” he'd said.
She'd pointed out that they were getting married, not casting a spell.
He'd raised an eyebrow. " You don't think marriage requires a touch of magic? Besides, you want to be married in the Catholic Church.”
She did, though she hadn't expected him to like the idea. Probably she needed to get over expecting things because she was usually wrong. Hadn't she expected to have trouble getting married in the Church? Not that Catholics didn't marry outside the faith sometimes, but she didn't know of any who'd married outside their species.
Turned out that wasn't a major hurdle. Father Michaels even speeded things up for them since they weren't planning to remain in DC much longer, asking for only three counseling sessions — one with her, one with Cullen, and one with the two of them together.
Getting married here at the park was a bigger problem. The Church wanted people to marry at the church, in the building itself, and Father Michaels couldn't agree to waive that on his own. He needed dispensation from his bishop. Now, Bishop Kearns might be a fine fellow in some ways — Cynna was trying to reserve judgment — but he wasn't exactly flexible. He didn't think allowing a dragon to attend the ceremony was a good reason to buck tradition.
Fortunately, she and Cullen knew someone with ecclesiastical clout. Archbishop Brown was on the Presidential Task Force as well as being on their guest list, and he'd agreed to speak to his brother bishop. They'd received their dispensation.
Then the assholes at the courthouse proved to be more hidebound than the Catholic Church. Them and their damned form DHS 366.
The law required blood tests. That was fine unless one of the people being tested was a lupus — an issue that, admittedly, hadn't arisen before. Everyone knew lupi didn't get venereal diseases, but common knowledge cut no ice with bureaucracy. Cullen had to be tested for syphilis and that test had to be certified as negative before the license bureau would issue a marriage license.
It still shouldn't have been a big deal. The test checked for antibodies produced by a body infected by syphilis, and the lab agreed that they hadn't found any such antibodies in Cullen's blood. They still refused to certify their results because the blood came from a lupus. Separated from its organizing principle, the magic in a lupus's blood turned random, which made a mess of lab tests. Everyone knew that, too, but this time common knowledge trumped common sense.
In the end, it took a call from a certain presidential assistant to persuade the lab to fill out form DHS 366 appropriately. Marilyn Wright had pointed out that the lab was not being asked whether the test could reasonably be expected to find the antibodies in question — only if such antibodies had been found.
Cynna touched the sea water to her crown chakra and stood quietly. It was hard to concentrate on cleansing when her insides were fizzing like a bottle of shaken soda pop. “Okay,” she said, her eyes snapping open. She reached for the thong undies that were all she could wear beneath her wedding dress. " I need the dress now.”
Lily had it ready. " I can't wait to see it on you.”
And this was second gift the Rohen liege had given Cynna, the material one: a length of fabric. Lily had found a tailor to make the fabric into a gown, a simple design called a slip dress that looked more like lingerie than a wedding dress to Cynna. On the hanger the dress was plain, a long length of what looked like blue-gray silk. But it was not the kind of silk spun by little worms. This had been spun by fairies. Real ones, with wings and everything. Fairies from Faerie.
Normally, only the fairies themselves and their larger kin, the sidhe, were allowed to wear enessi, or fairy silk. Cynna tried not to think about how much the material was worth as she slid the gown over her head .It was like slipping into liquid sin. She sleeked it down her hips, giving a little wiggle to help it fall in place.
Lily gasped. " Oh, my . . . . ”
“Is that a good oh my or a bad one?” Cynna demanded. “Dammit, there’ s no full-length mirror here. What was I thinking? I need a mirror.”
“It’ s good,” Lily assured her. “It’ s incredible. I knew the fabric was supposed to respond to the wearer's body, but I had no idea . . . look.” Gently she turned Cynna towards the small mirror over the sink.
Cynna's breath caught. A sunrise sky flowed over her breasts in a thousand shades of blue, from twilight to shimmery ice. Blue that rippled here and there into white, pink, yellow tinged with orange . . . colors so clear and soft they looked like air itself smiling at the approach of day.
Colors, she saw as she took a step back, that moved when she did. " Wow.”
“I’ve never — what the hell?”
The glass vial that had held the seawater floated straight up from the ledge where Cynna had set it — then dropped, smashing on the concrete floor.
“Shit!”She’ d been hoping — but no, she couldn't be that lucky, could she? Cynna put her hands on her hips. " That is not the way to go about getting yourself forgiven, woman!”
“Uh . . . Cynna? You talking to me?”
“Of course not. Mrs. Ryerson.” Cynna glowered at the broken bottle. " I don't have anything to sweep up that mess with.” She bent so she could pick up the biggest pieces of glass.
Lily knelt and pushed her hand away. “Move. The bride can't be bleeding when she walks down the aisle. Ah . . . about this Mrs. Ryerson. She levitates things?”
“She’ s haunting me. Started about two weeks ago.” Cynna shook her head.
“Never mind her. Come on, you can't get all that up by hand. Let's go.”
“Shoes,” Lily said, dropping the shards she’ d collected in the trash. “You’ re forgetting your shoes. I take it Mrs. Ryerson is dead?”
Cynna pulled her new ballet flats out of the tote. “Long dead.”
“Who is she?”
“She was a neighbour about a zillion years ago.” She stepped into the shoes and wiggled her toes. Pity she couldn't wear boots with the dress, but these didn't feel bad.
“Nosy type, always thought us kids were up to something. For some reason she picked me as her favourite target, but that was so long ago . . . I don't know why she suddenly showed up. Doesn't make sense, does it?” She glanced at the mirror and smiled in spite of everything. This was one killer dress. " Come on. I'm getting married today no matter how many temper fits that stupid ghost throws.”
Lily stuffed the tote into one of the stalls, where maybe it wouldn't get stolen. “How do you know about this ghost?”
“Oh, when stuff started happening I went to see a medium. Friend of a friend, you know? She's pretty good.”
> “Why is—”
“I don’ t want to talk about it now. I want to get married.” Before the fizz in her stomach turned into a sick funk — or Mrs. Ryerson came up with a new way to bedevil her.
“Okay, sure.” Lily slung her smart little leather purse onto her shoulder. “But why do you think the ghost is this Mrs. Ryerson?”
Cynna sighed. Of course Lily wouldn't leave it alone. If Lily was breathing, she was asking questions. " Because she told me so when the medium brought her through. She claims she wants forgiveness, but . . . ” Cynna sent a glare around the small bathroom. “ I told her I forgave her, but she's still here, isn't she? Breaking stuff. Puncturing tires.”
Lily's eyebrows shot up. “She did that?”